


in the mourning

by ninwrites



Series: Shadowhunters Coda Scenes [14]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 3b, Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breakfast in Bed, Canon Compliant, Coda, Domestic Fluff, Happy Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Short & Sweet, inspired by the mini clip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-26 13:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16682206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: Meeting Alec had sparked something oddly domestic inside Magnus, that he hasn’t been able to shake since, nor would he ever want to.inspired byrecent events





	in the mourning

**Author's Note:**

> the little 3B clip left me missing malec more than ever, and so, this happened 
> 
> \- 
> 
> title from the Paramore song of the same name // edited by me, all mistakes are mine and profoundly apologised for

It always starts with a hollow feeling, deep-set into his bones, as though they’ve been scraped clean from the inside out. Next, comes the cold, spreading out from the tips of his fingers and up his arms, culminating in a crystallisation of ice around his core, where his magic used to thrum warm and bright with a life of its own. The aches and pains come to with the slow revelation of consciousness, sinking in his limbs and crowning his skull with a defeated pulse, all of the lives he’s ever lived weighing heavy on his newly-mortal body and mind.

 

The only thing that makes waking worth the effort is seeing Alec beside him, snoring gently, his nose scrunched up in a tiny frown, as though even in sleep there is something troubling him, a worry he still can’t shake.

 

Knowing that Alec is here, safe and alive, makes everything that lead up to this point worth it – Magnus would do it again, a thousand times over, would strip himself of everything he’s ever had, to keep Alec safe.

 

Magnus rolls his neck, still getting used to acknowledging the tension without being able to use magic to ease it, and slips out of bed, careful not to disturb Alec, for any sleep he gets is both well-deserved and something of a miracle.

 

Magnus can tell that Alec is getting restless, knows that he’d be out in the field if he could get away with it, hates feeling as though he isn’t doing everything that he should, as though being stabbed doesn’t give him the right to take some time off. He’d managed to strike a compromise with Catarina, promising that he wouldn’t strain himself, that he wouldn’t push past his own boundaries, so long as he was able to delegate and supervise from the loft.

 

It’s not entirely clear if his desire to recover at the loft is because he finds more comfort there than in the Institute, or if it allows him to keep a close eye on Magnus in the wake of his new mortality – his worry is sweet, but it does little to help him heal if he’s more focused on whether Magnus is okay.

 

He’s not, okay, but he will be. He hopes.

 

Magnus is more concerned about Alec, about making sure that he wants for nothing, because Magnus almost lost him – really lost him – and he can’t let go of that fear. He can’t sleep, because every time he closes his eyes he sees Alec, lying on that frozen concrete floor with his own arrow protruding from his chest, his life nothing stronger than a fragile string, one wrong move away from snapping.

 

Magnus hadn’t been able to save Alec, then, but he can damn well do his best to ensure that Alec recovers, and heals, with as little fuss and trouble as possible. If nothing else, Magnus can give him this.

 

Alec huffs, burrowing into the gap between their pillows left by Magnus’ absence, one hand curling in the receding warmth on Magnus’ side of the bed. Magnus glances over his shoulder, torn between his intentions and the unmistakable yearn to huddle close to Alec and never let him go, leave the rest of the world to its own devices and soak in every second they have.

 

It’s not as though Magnus has as many, these days.

 

He reaches gingerly for his glasses, the black frame cold where it touches his skin, perched on his nose as though it knows better than he does, where it belongs. He doesn’t wear glasses a lot, or rather, he never used to, back when he had his magic to fix the more inconvenient aspects of his daily life. Now, there’s a blurriness to the edges of his vision, brought on by a taunting lack of sleep and worsened by his fatigued concentration, and so – glasses.

 

It’s something he’s still getting used to, the pressure on his nose not heavy so much as is _present_ , another unflinching reminder of all that he is now without, of everything that has changed with his magic gone.

 

It’s the little things, that get to him the most – he didn’t realise just how interwoven his magic was, how _dependant_ he’d become over the centuries. He hasn’t the heart to paint his nails, or put on makeup, can’t summon the energy to sift through his closet and put together an outfit each day; the menial, utterly mundane tasks are what exhaust him the most. It’s hard enough to get through the day, every action feeling as though it sucks all of the strength out of him – what else he manages to summon up is given to Alec, to helping him in whatever way that Magnus can, his current state considered.

 

Magnus has had dark moments, decades where he didn’t think he’d see the light of any day again, where he’d lost all semblance of hope to the monotony of his actions – but none of it had ever felt as demoralising as this.  

 

It creeps up, a skeletal hand on his shoulder, shadowy and dark behind him; an invisible wire ahead of him, patiently waiting to trip him up at any given second; the air is thick and heavy with the potential he sold, all the faith of others he took for granted, forever lost to the consequences of his actions.

 

Magnus doesn’t regret it, would go back in time and repeat the same actions all over again, because he _knows_ that the outcome is worth all of his pain – he simply can’t justify the hurt he’s causing others.

 

Magnus doesn’t consider himself terribly altruistic, he’s by no means a saint, and he’s done enough to the world to warrant a dark afterlife, if such a thing even exist, but he does care, sometimes more than is healthy – he carries the weight of the collateral on his shoulders like Atlas did the world, but he’s losing out on strength, these days.

 

There are shadows beneath his eyes, reflected in the bathroom mirror, edged slightly in fog. They make his cheeks look drawn, his skin sallow, though fortunately not as grey as the past few days. His mouth is a thin, pale line, taut at the corners. He tries to fake a smile, but even he can’t fool himself.

 

He’s lost, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be found.

 

* * *

 

 

Meeting Alec had sparked something oddly domestic inside Magnus, that he hasn’t been able to shake since, nor would he ever want to.

 

It’s this sense of domesticity that keeps Magnus sane, because it gives him something to do, something new to focus on. When Alec was unconscious, put in a magically-induced coma for a few days by Catarina to ensure that his healing wouldn’t be affected, Magnus had cleaned. The bathroom, the kitchen, the balcony, his office, the living area, the foyer. All of it, top to bottom, with an infuriatingly relentless attention to detail. It had been exhausting, and new, but it had been a distraction, and that was something he craved.

 

A few days after Alec had woken up, he’d been getting restless, frustrated by being confined to the bed, guilty for not being able to help for the sake of his injuries. So, Magnus had baked. He’d let Alec choose the recipes, gooey white chocolate chip and macadamia cookies, raspberry cheesecake and blackberry pie, lemon meringue and apple crumble. There’d been hits, and misses, but Magnus had been able to engage Alec by encouraging that he taste-test every miniscule thing, even at one point when Alec’s strength had been good, helping him to the table so that he could watch Magnus, so that he could feel as though he had a bigger part in the whole process than just reaping the benefits. Alec isn’t the kind of person who can accept things without having put effort in himself, and this was a slight, but easy way for him to be involved without straining himself.

 

This morning, Magnus cooks.

 

Nothing terribly fancy, just a simple stack of blueberry pancakes, with some butter and cream on the side in dainty white pots and a single red rose Magnus had cheekily snuck from a get-well bouquet that had been delivered to the loft the day before. He brews coffee, lets it sit until the smell is wafting throughout the kitchen before adding Alec’s sugar and the slightest drop of milk, just enough that the surface melts into a lighter brown, a perfect mix of sweet and bitter.

 

A bit like Alec, in that sense.

 

He’s grouchy, when Magnus enters the bedroom, tray in hand, but Magnus doesn’t take it to heart because Alec is usually grumpy in the morning; as it is, he’s a little sick of finding himself in the bed, comfortable though it may be, and there’s little that will drastically change his mood.

 

Magnus has no intentions to manipulate Alec’s mood, he simply wants to do something for Alec, because he loves him, because he could have lost him, because Alec doesn’t know how to ask for help, even when he needs it the most. Because Alec would sooner claim that he’s fine before acknowledging – and accepting - that things really aren’t okay.

 

“Good morning,” Magnus kicks the bedroom door shut with his foot, having left it open when he went to the kitchen. “I come bearing gifts, and coffee, the latter of which I’m sure is probably the most important.”

 

Alec’s frown deepens, his hair a tangled mop, erratic strands dipping into his eyes. There’s a slight scrunch to the bridge of his nose which is making Magnus’ heart ache with how adorable it is. Magnus really, _really_ loves this man.

 

“Is today a special occasion?” Alec grumbles, as Magnus lays the breakfast tray down. His sleep-muddle tone is adorable, but the reasoning behind his question leaves a little to be desired; he can’t seem to imagine that Magnus’ actions don’t hold a greater purpose.

 

“It’s your day off.” Magnus explains, perching on the edge of the bed. “And I want to make the most of it.”

 

He slides the tray closer, a boat in the middle of the gold-sheeted ocean, the single rose a long-stemmed mast. Alec’s frown deepens, his mouth turned down at the corners, appearing completely and utterly at war with the world. It’s an expression he wears often in the mornings, one that grew frequent as he became comfortable staying over at Magnus’ loft. Now that he practically lives at the loft, now that it’s melding into a place that’s a blend of their own, it’s an expression Magnus has come to expect.

 

It’s charming, but then, Magnus thinks that everything Alec does is the epitome of endearing. It’s his bias, and he accepts it without question. Alec glances up at Magnus, his tousled hair dipping further into his eyes. Magnus just smiles, slight and encouraging.

 

Alec gives a little, near-imperceptible nod in response. “That’s actually really sweet.” He murmurs, reaching out to thumb the blood-red petals of the rose. His gaze skips up to meet Magnus’, an understanding glittering there behind the fatigue and worry.

 

Being worried is something of a default for Alec.

 

“I thought so.” Magnus admits, shrugging his left shoulder in the hopes of dispelling his complete lack of nonchalance.

 

Alec’s hand falls to the sheet, fingers curled tight within the gold. “You didn’t have to.”

 

Magnus reaches over, laying his hand over the top of Alec’s. A low, tremouring exhale slips out from between Alec’s parted lips. “I wanted to.”

 

Alec closes his eyes, but his hand folds over, until his palm is resting flush against Magnus’ their fingers intertwined together. “Thank you.”

 

“Alexander,” Magnus shifts closer, mindful of the breakfast tray between them, his free hand reaching out to curl against Alec’s cheek. “I would do anything for you. Everything. Making breakfast is hardly an exhaust of my abilities.”

 

Alec sighs, world-weary and shaken. “It’s not, the same for you, though. Not anymore. I can’t expect you to do all of this for me.”

 

“Expectations of others have never really been your thing, darling. I wanted to do this for you, because you deserve something nice.”

 

Alec shrugs, squeezing Magnus’ hand. “I already have that, with you.”

 

Magnus’ heart tightens, his ribcage a vice. “You’re sweet, my love. But so are your pancakes, which will get cold if you don’t allow yourself to indulge in them.”

 

Alec hums. “Care to share them with me?”

 

“I doubt even this is enough for a Shadowhunter’s appetite.” Magnus points out, cheekily poking at Alec’s bicep. “However, I am quite hungry myself, so if you insist…”

 

Alec adjusts the tray until it’s settled comfortably between them, his shoulder bumping against Magnus’ when he shuffles closer. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

Magnus offers Alec a hesitant smile, the air heightened with something both bitter and sweet. “What’s yours is mine, and all that?”

 

Alec frowns, something twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Is that, a mundane thing?”

 

“A bit of a weak joke, perhaps.” Magnus acknowledges. “The sentiment is that, in a relationship, everything is shared.”

 

“Seems a bit unrealistic.” Alec mutters, taking a sip of his coffee. “Your shirts don’t fit me, and it’s not as though you can really use my stele. There are some things we can’t share.”

 

Magnus laughs, breathy and sweet, Alec’s unmatched honesty never ceasing to astound and delight him in equal measure. “Your points are valid, Alexander, I must say. I like to think of it symbolically, myself.”

 

“Hm?” Alec raises a single eyebrow, his mouth clamped the fork.

 

“Instead of leading two separate lives,” Magnus shrugs, jerkily, the weight of his words following a few seconds too late. “It's all - intertwined. We exist as separate people, with our own clothes and hobbies and loves and hates, but at the core of it all, we’re not entirely … alone. There’s more than just the material, there’s - us.”

 

“So,” Alec chews at his bottom lip, fingers tight around the handle of his mug. “It’s like how, we can go about our day, and do our own thing, but when it’s time to come home we both come back, here.”

 

Magnus’ heart stutters in his throat. “You consider the loft home?”

 

A dusty pink lights Alec’s cheeks, but his gaze is fond and unrelenting. “Home is anywhere you are. When I think of the loft, it’s not the cats on the balcony or the faint smell of vanilla or the constantly changing sheets, it’s - you. I’m home when I slip through the doors and see you, when I kiss you hello, when we talk about the highs and lows of our days. When you smile … that’s when I know I’m home.”

 

Something warm floods Magnus’ chest, and it’s bittersweet and wholesome, reminiscent of how his magic used to feel, yet simultaneously filling the gaps it’s loss had left behind.

 

Love is a magic of its own, and Alec’s is a force far stronger than most.

 

 _“God,”_ Magnus’ voice croaks slightly, but he elects to ignore it. “Your honesty is poetic.”

 

Alec’s blush burns a little brighter. “It’s just how I feel.”

 

“That’s the most beautiful part,” Magnus reassures him. “You speak from your heart because you don’t consider any other way, and it’s one of the countless things I love about you.”

 

“Countless?” The corner of Alec’s mouth tugs up into a charming smirk. “C’mon Magnus, you can do a little better than that. I’m waxing poetry over here.”

 

Magnus rolls his eyes, Alec’s amusement trickling into the air in bursts of tender laughter. It’s then that Magnus knows, with a comforting level of certainty, that they will be okay.

 

The future might be an open-ended, intricately confusing mess - but it’s theirs. And he has no doubt that they will be able to tackle whatever comes their way, together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> my love to [mary](https://mobile.twitter.com/artistmow) for supporting me and my creative insanity throughout this (and life as a whole) 
> 
> —
> 
> links - for those interested:
> 
> twitter: [ninwrites](https://mobile.twitter.com/ninwrites) for fic stuff/updates/snippets + [biconicbarnes](https://mobile.twitter.com/biconicbarnes) for general fandom mess + small threads  
>   
> tumblr: [here](https://ninwrites.tumblr.com/)  
>   
> (and while you're there check out the [shfanficnexus](https://shfanficnexus.tumblr.com/), a collection of work by wonderfully talented and lovely writers <3 )  
> thank you for reading!
> 
> \- Nin ❤


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